by Shaneen Sophie Gan

Khia found Lor near her house.

It was on the other side of Plean River, and she usually walked across the bridge to get there. The sunny day was turning to a warm night and there was a slight breeze, although she could hear shouts and explosions in the far distance. The river gurgled an unknown rhythm, the street musicians played their usual jazz, and Khia found herself walking with a light skip in her steps. She greeted the usual fruit vendor on the bridge and the old man tipped his hat in response.

“The usual apples, Miss Khia?” asked the fruit vendor, already placing a good six of the apples into a brown paper bag.

Khia smiled and nodded. “You know me too well, Feln. I heard that the North is gaining on us. The war just reached the Borders.”

Feln’s expression turned grim. “I woke up to some disastrous noise this morning. I have a feeling that within a month, our city will be in shambles next. Before you know it, the North will have overtaken the entire state, but our king won’t do anything.” He spit out the word ‘king’ as if it was poison on his tongue. He was not wrong.

The North started on their plans to conquer the entire state of Halfas two years ago. With the East and the South completely dominated, the only remaining state left was the West. The City of Iro, Khia’s home, was filled to the brim with refugees and now, every alley was littered with the homeless. At least they were safe here.

Unfortunately, the King of the West refused to do anything regarding the war, leaving the army to fight on their own. Either from fear or just pure indifference, Khia did not know, but because of him, she was no longer a witch but is now a healer, and she could not decide if it was better or worse. On one hand, she now had a steady flow of income, but on the other, she wanted to fight in the war like all the other witches. Maybe she should not have learned healing magic.

Feln passed Khia the apple-filled bag and took her copper coins in return. Khia thanked him and continued her walk back home, humming a tune that she heard the street musicians played the other night. As she approached her house, she suddenly stopped short.

A man, draped in a dark cloak, sat against the door to her house, his head resting on the wood, surrounded by a pool of blood. His chest heaved up and down in a fast tempo, signifying to Khia that he was still alive.

Khia looked around to the dimly lit street, checked for any possible signs of threats, and conjured a protective barrier around her house before rushing to the man, her bag of apples dropped and forgotten on the stone ground. She quickly whisked him into her house,

and carefully placed him on the dining table. Blood splattered all over the floor. She would worry about it later. She had more important things to do now.

With a wave of a hand, the man’s cloak disintegrated, revealing a torso so bloodied she could not pinpoint the source of his injuries. With snap of her fingers, the blood disappeared, and she gasped in horror at the state of him.

The man’s right side was completely marred with claw marks so deep the white of his bone was peeking through. An insignia was burned onto his left pectoral. A two-headed snake swallowing a throne. Northern dwellers.

Khia gritted her teeth. No. Her duty came first. She would deal with the North dweller later. Swiftly, she grabbed one of the vials from the kitchen cabinet, doused a role of bandages and wrapped the man’s torso tightly. Hopefully, the skin would patch itself and she only needed to worry about the internal injuries.

Khia woke up to an unusually silent house and a knife pointed to her face, the tip glinting in the morning sun. Her eyes travelled to the hand gripping the knife, then to the hardened face of the Northern dweller.

“Are you going to kill me?” Her voice was quiet but unwavering.

The man remained silent.

“If you are, can I at least know your name?”

The man swallowed and finally replied after a moment. “Lor.”

“Well, Lor, I don’t think you’re in the best state to kill someone. Why don’t you put down the kitchen knife and we’ll settle this like civilized people?”

“I never known Western dwellers to be civilized.”

“Says the conqueror himself.”

Khia steeled her gaze as they locked themselves in a stare-down before Lor finally lowered down the knife. Instantly, Khia snapped her wrist and the knife was ripped out of Lor’s grasp and cluttered away from them.

“You are a witch.” It was a statement, but Khia nodded anyways.

“And you’re of the North.”

Lor looked down, guilt flashing in his eyes for just a moment before it disappeared. “So, what of it?”

“Nothing, but I suggest you sit down so you can eat and I can look at your injuries.” Khia gestured to the dining table, which was now cleaned of blood and prepped with plates of bacon and scrambled eggs with a wave of her hand. Wordlessly, Lor obeyed and sat down.

Khia got on with her daily activities once Lor was able to move around. She was grinding herbs for her remedies one evening, humming a light tune, and noticed Lor looking at her intently. She did not know what compelled her to do so, but she started explaining the usage of each herb she grinded them. Lor mostly remained silent, with one or two questions occasionally.

It went on for three nights. On the fourth night, Khia returned late from her weekly shopping, and found that Lor had already started grinding the herbs. How he knew what she needed, she did not know, but she did not say anything and he continued helping her for the following nights.

As the days went by, Khia learned quite a few things about Lor. She realized that Lor flinched whenever he heard explosions from the distance, and he would unconsciously rub his left pectoral. She realized that he would calm down whenever he heard the sound of the pestle pounding on the mortar when she grinded herbs. She realized that whenever she brought Lor out on her weekly shopping, he would stay by the street musicians longer than usual. She did not mind. She always enjoyed the music.

She also noticed that Lor would linger at the music shop after listening to the musicians, eyeing a flute in particular. So, the next day, she returned with the flute.

“Here,” she said, handing him the wooden instrument.

Lor took it gingerly, his expression stony but his eyes glittered. With sadness or gratitude, she could not tell. “Thank you,” he whispered. He kissed her cheek gently, near the corner of her mouth, and Khia felt blood rise up to her cheeks. She could not form words after that, nor could she look him in the eyes and not feel herself blushing.

At night, Khia could not fall asleep. Her mind kept going back to when Lor kissed her. It was just her cheek, but she could not help but to feel giddy. Goodness, she felt like a school girl. Just as she was about to close her eyes, a shout came from the other room. Lor’s room.

Khia rushed out, flinging the door open, and saw Lor drenched in sweat as he sat on his bed. “Are you okay?” She asked gently.

Lor looked up at her, his eyes tired and his face pale. “Just a nightmare.” He croaked out.

There was something about his expression that made her heart hurt. She made her way to him and wrapped her arms around him tightly, her fingers running through his hair as she hummed a lullaby her mother used to sing. Eventually, Lor hugged her standing figure back, and buried her face against her shirt.

“I escaped from the North,” Lor said after some time. “We never wanted to fight, but we were forced to. When we finally reached the Borders, I ran away with a few others, but not before the Hounds got to us. The rest of us died. I was the only one who escaped.”

Khia inhaled sharply. She heard of the Hounds. Beasts the North bred to help in the war. The Hounds had no indication of who was ally or foe. All they were were mindless, killing machines. It was a miracle Lor managed to get away.

“I never got to thank you for saving me,” Lor continued.

Khia shook her head. “You don’t have to.”

The next morning, Khia woke up to Lor playing the flute. It was a beautiful melody that started off light that turned melancholic and ended with a romantic verse. She could hear that his heart was now lighter. She did not understand why but it made her heart swell to hear him play.

Before she knew it, half a year had gone by. Khia’s and Lor’s lives and settled to a comforting routine. Khia woke up to the sound of Lor’s flute every morning and she never got tired of it. They still went for their weekly shopping and Lor still lingered longer with the street musicians. In the evening, they grinded herbs over Khia’s humming, one that Lor found great comfort it.

The war had almost reached the City of Iro and Khia feared what might happen to them.

“Let’s run away.” She said to Lor, stopping her herb grinding. Her hands gripped the pestle and mortar so tightly her knuckles turned white. She looked at Lor, desperation evident in her eyes. “I know we have only known each other for 6 months, but the war is almost here and your wounds are not fully healed and I need to look at them but I thought it would be better if we went together.” She babbled on, her brain wracking for excuses. She knew that his wounds were already healed weeks ago. She knew that he knew too.

Lor placed his hands over Khia’s tensed ones and gently pried her fingers open from the pestle and mortar. He then took her hand in his and interlaced his fingers with hers. “Okay.”

Khia could not stop the smile spreading across her lips.

They spent the next week preparing their things needed before they ran away. Food, clothes, important documents and trinkets. They were almost done, but Khia needed to get some important herbs before they left. With Lor at home ready to bolt once she returned, she ran to the market as fast as her legs could carry her.

Suddenly, there was a loud boom, and the building across the street exploded. A protective barrier stopped the debris from crushing her, but it was not long when another building ahead exploded.

Screams. Shouts. Cries. More explosions.

It was absolute chaos.

People rushed out of their homes and ran helter-skelter. Khia looked around in a flurry of panic, and saw smoke rising from the direction of her house.

No. Please, no.

Khia ran.

The sight that greeted her was not pleasant. There was a hole on the side of her house and her door was in shambles. “Lor?” She called out, entering the house. Everything was wrecked. Furniture was overturned, her kitchen in splinters, and her windows shattered. But still no sign of Lor.

“Lor?” She cried out more desperately this time. “Where are you?”

It was not until she reached her room when she finally understood what happened. Blood was splattered all over the walls and pools of blood drenched the floor. The Hounds had returned. All that was left was the wooden flute, and Lor was nowhere to be found.

Khia sank to her knees, and felt wetness slide down her cheeks. She was crying. Then, she let out a scream so painful, but even then, it could not express how she felt when the whole entire world shattered along with her heart.

Since then, two years had pass and the war was finally over with the North surrendering. The King of the West had finally made a move the moment the City of Iro was destroyed. But even then, it was already too late.

The streets were filled with more music that Khia woke up every morning from hearing bands playing. She hated it. She hated how joyful the music sounded, how lively the bands played, how merry the people danced. It did not matter if it sounded good. It was just noise to her now.

All she could think of was that, it was not Lor’s flute.

And her heart ached.

Every.

Single.